Loving Shadows
by Logical Fallacy
Summary: What he did to her was inexcusable. What he's about to do is even more so. And how he's doing it - that's the worst part of it all. No flames!  And by saying that automatically  means I'd get flames.
1. Chapter 1

**IMPORTANT: This is going to be a dark-themed story. Not totally dark that it would require an M rating, but dark enough to require a T. I'm going to try to bring out the darkest side of Ian here. Nothing big, but the cruel part of him would be a bit more accentuated.** **And there would be a bit of violence, but very, very minor. **

**Loving Shadows**

**Chapter 1**

…**ooo000O000ooo…**

**A**

**M**

**Y**

"Amy?" Nellie called from the door. "Me and Dan are going to hunt for doughnuts. Want to come with?"

"Dan and I," I automatically corrected her. "And, no thanks. I want to rest for now."

Dan snorted. "How much do you bet that she's going to think of lover boy while crying on the bed?" he asked Nellie in a stage whisper, purposely loud enough for me to hear. I scowled and threw a pillow at him, but he dodged and threw it back at me. I _was_ on the bed, but I had no intentions of crying and even _thinking_ of the mentioned 'lover boy'. I planned on sleeping, and given the current events, dreaming of choking Dan.

Nellie chuckled. "How much do you want to bet that she's going to do something horrible to you in your sleep?" she challenged. I smiled with gratitude at her show of support.

Laughing and placing bets, the pair of them left the room. I sighed contentedly as I leaned back on the bed, staring at the discarded pillow still lying on the floor with no intention of picking it up.

Silence is golden, but at the same time annoying, because with silence came the nothingness to distract me from my thoughts. My mind unwillingly wandered to Dan's comment.

Lover boy. Ian Kabra.

I felt like throwing up at the mention of that name. The stupid idiot who thought he could get away with trying to break my heart.

At first, I found him very handsome, with his cinnamon colored skin, alluring amber eyes, and jet-black hair. He was, after all, a British boy. Who wasn't a sucker for the British accent? I would like to think that I was above such mundane weaknesses, that I wasn't one of those annoying fan-girls who squealed at the sound of Robert Pattinson's voice, but, unfortunately, I was not. I was drawn in by the same weakness as most girls.

Thankfully, I wasn't tricked by his accent alone. How stupid would I be, if I had fallen for his lies so easily just because of the way he spoke? Except that my other reason was almost as bad as the first.

The sad truth is that Ian Kabra was probably the first boy to have shown any sort of interest in me, and for that I was flattered. Enough to make me forget about the consequences of trusting your enemies, especially those who have expressed the desire of torturing and killing me.

Being the romantic idiot that I am, I was immediately crushed when I found out that he was just using me for the clue. I'd forfeited the motto that Dan and I should have taken to heart: _Trust no one. _It was a lesson I learned time and time again through deceits and false hopes. And by disregarding common sense, I almost paid the price of my life, as well as Dan and Alistair's. It was only by luck that we all managed to escape that wretched cave. Even more luck that we were relatively unscathed.

I was a fool, I'll admit. Looking back on the past, I realize that I should have taken the time to at least be friends with the jerk, instead of dreaming up romantic and impossible fantasies of what-could-have-been and trying to make them come true. If I had been thinking with logic, I would have taken the time to find out more about him. But if I had been thinking with logic, I would have kept in mind that we were enemies and any familiarities between us would not have mattered in the hunt, therefore I would never have trusted him in the first place. It was a paradox, the relationship of the opposite sexes. One that I should have avoided at all costs.

But I am not avoiding it. My thoughts keep going back to that moment when, in some weird degree, I trusted Ian. My hormones led my mind to forget all instances in which he was trying to kill me and only remember the _one_ instance in which he saved my life. That stupid incident with the _Yakuza_.

In my mind, I knew I had just been looking for more excuses – anything that would work – to be close to him. He saved me from the Yakuza, true, but he did it not because he cared about me – we don't even know each other now, much less then – but because he needed me to get the clue.

And me, little, stupid, naïve me, had to fall for his British accent and smooth talk. That's what I get for being so shy. I don't know how guys really are because I've never really hung out with one – aside from Dan – so I don't know when they're being Mr. Suave or being Mr. User.

When Ian said the word 'lovely', he probably meant, 'Lovely, everything's going as planned. She's falling for me.' He probably thought that the stupid kiss would seal the deal.

The worst part is still to come.

The worst thing is, Dan already warned me and I didn't listen.

_Dan_ warned me.

It was so obvious that Ian was just using me, that even my eleven-year-old brother could see it. Any one could have seen it coming. Every one except me, apparently. I'm such an idiot. I am so desperate for the companionship of guys, any guy, that I would fall for any jerk that compliments me. Including murderers.

No, scratch that. Especially murderers. Ian is a murderer, right? Even if his first few murder attempts fail?

Yes, he is a stupid murderer-to-be.

Dear God, I've spent the past ten minutes thinking about him. There must be some form of medicine – drug or herb or whatever – to prevent these hormones, because they've been prompting me to think about these things – obviously, it wasn't healthy to one's well-being.

How many times must we – by 'we', I mean Dan and I – be betrayed before the message finally sinks in?

Dan.

It hurt to think that I could very well have been the indirect cause of his death. If Dan had died in that cave in Korea, it would be pointless for me to have been rescued because I'd have been eaten up by my own guilt. There'd been too many times in this hunt where Dan had almost died because of me.

This was wrong. I discovered so many thoughts and revelations just because I spent ten minutes thinking of Ian and what he did. I'm crazy. Ian actually made me crazy. Originally, I only go crazy when he's around. Now, I'm going crazy even when he's not here.

Ian screwed up my life in so many levels.

I tuned around and abandoned any attempts to try and go to sleep. I'd probably end up _dreaming_ of him too. Instead, I padded over to the television and grabbed the remote resting on top of it. I angled the bed which was closer to it so that it faced the television more.

Flipping past the useless channels – namely _Velvet_ and _ETC_ – and headed straight to the educational and informative channels. I don't know why so many people spent the better part of their lives following the celebrities. It was sad, the way their whole world revolved around what Justin Beiber, Miley Cyrus, Selena Gomez, and the Jonas Brothers were doing. What was even sadder was that there actually are people _paid_ to stalk these celebrities. What was so special about them anyway? They were normal people who got filmed doing something and looking perfect at the same time. Their perfection wasn't even real; it was usually edited using Photoshop or some other digital enhancer. I preferred Discovery Channel myself. It always had something useful in it. What was so useful about how much Paris Hilton spent on her shoes?

Or maybe I was just so bitter about celebrities because Jonah Wizard was one.

I was half-way through watching Mythbusters when I heard the door open and close behind me. I didn't even bother to check who it was, rationalizing that the only person who would enter was Dan and-slash-or Nellie. I ignored them both, continuing to watch Jamie and Adam attempt to walk on water – which was actually a mixture of cornstarch, water, and blue food coloring.

Whoever entered cleared their throat behind me. I turned around, prepared to snap at them, when I was met with a sickening sight.

Natalie's dart gun, which I assumed was fully loaded with some head ache inducing sleeping formula, was pointed right at my face.

_No_, it was just floating there in mid-air with no one holding it up. What do you _think?_ Natalie's dart gun is only handled by Natalie herself, and sometimes her brother. There I was, sitting on the bed with Mythbusters playing on the television, and a dart gun aimed at me by none other than Natalie Kabra herself, who was currently smirking as though she'd just won the lottery. (Oh, the irony – Natalie would never win the lottery because she had no need to enter one.) Her brother Ian was wearing the same expression while standing lazily behind her.

"Hello, love," he drawled in his British accent. "Been thinking about me?"

_You have no idea, Ian._

**A**

**M**

**Y**

…**ooo000O000ooo…**

**Okay, this is the rewrite for Thinking of Me. It's not the one with the supernatural twist. It's basically the same story as the original, except I have a vague idea of the plot now. I didn't want Amy to be completely 'in like' with him at the start of the story, hence this version. I tried to make her in character, but I'm awful at it. Please correct me if you notice any errors. **

**Yes, I realized that she was a bit stiff at the beginning, but I had just finished rereading Artemis Fowl, and his formal mannerisms somehow rubbed off on me. **

**IMPORTANT: This is going to be a dark-themed story. Not totally dark that it would require an M rating, but dark enough to require a T. I'm going to try to bring out the darkest side of Ian here. Nothing big, but the cruel part of him would be a bit more accentuated. And there would be a bit of violence, but very, very minor.**

**I had to make sure you would read that bit. **

**Flames are welcome, reviews more so. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Loving Shadows**

**Chapter Two**

…**ooo000O000ooo…**

**I**

**A**

**N**

Lord, I can't stop thinking about that Cahill girl. Amy. What a plain, common name to match her plain, common face. There are at least three Amy-named girls in my school back home in London, all of whom are to inherit a fortune at least ten times the amount Amy has ever thought of. So I ask myself this: What's so special about her? What's so different?

I doubt it's the way she talks. That stutter of hers is embarrassing, nothing to be proud of, and everything to be ashamed about.

Maybe it's the way she looks at, as though she's trying to figure me out. Good luck, I say to that. Not even Natalie knows of the real Ian Kabra.

Or maybe it's the fact that she doesn't fall all over herself to get to me, as the girls back in London do. It does make me a little uncomfortable at times, but it feels good.

Any of those reasons could be why I'm so – what's the word? – _intrigued_ by Amy Cahill.

No, don't worry, ladies. Ian Kabra is still free. I do not like Amy Cahill in any way, nor do I have a crush on her. I simply find her intriguing.

Who wouldn't? Her joy in running up Alistair's tiny lawn, her awe at the piddling little cubbyhole Alistair calls the 'Oh Sanctum' – I didn't think it possible to gain so much happiness from so little. She's a living human-interest story.

I don't know what amazes me more, though: The fact that she thought that I could fall for some one as pitiful as her, or the fact that her brother saw it coming.

Her brother, the oh-so-oblivious-to-the-world Daniel, is the one who warned Amy of my plan. He is another human-interest story. Who could have thought that Daniel Cahill predicted the Kabras? Certainly not _me_.

In that cave back all the way back in Paris, I was amazed to find Daniel solving the magic square. I would have thought it to be Amy, the know-it-all.

I hadn't put any faith in the plan, not thinking I would succeed. I half-expected them to sneak away in the dead of the night while we were sleeping, taking the Hideyoshi coin with them.

But deep down, I knew my worries were ill placed; they were the _Cahills_. They were the only team who doesn't know their own branch, the only team who would rather take the diplomatic approach before the violent one. (Aside from Alistair, but he doesn't count because he backstabs like the rest of them.) And yet, I could not shake that feeling off. My whole life was spent watching my parents and their so-called friends backstab each other. I knew that was meant to be my life, the one I was destined to have. So I trained my self not to trust people easily; therefore it was only instinct to distrust the Cahills.

The girl, Amy. She was too naive, so much that I almost hesitated to leave her in the cave. I'd already decided to let them live, until the moment I reminded myself that she wouldn't hesitate to do that to me were the situation reversed. So I shut the cave door.

Speaking of doors…

"Ian! Let me in!" Ah, my dear sister Natalie was banging on the custom-made oak wood doors.

I sighed, got out of the bed, and walked toward the door slowly, if for no other reason than to irritate her. When I reached it, I took a deep breath and counted to three before opening. "What?"

She stood there, already dressed in a sea-green dress and those stupid and scandalously high heels. What is it with girls and those heels? I detested them; they hurt a lot when pressed on your foot. I should know. She's done it to me before.

I wondered vaguely if Amy wore them.

Natalie huffed before answering, "Dear Lord, what took you so long? Don't answer that. It's time."

Oh, yeah. I almost forgot. Natalie and I were assigned by mother to go into the Cahill's hotel and… retrieve them for her. We'd spent days planning this. "Now?"

"Yes – no, in five minutes, once you've changed in to something more appropriate." Natalie smirked.

I looked down and smirked then shut the door. Indeed, I was wearing nothing but my boxers. I debated idly what Amy's reaction would be if I went to her hotel like this. She would probably blush.

One blue Armani polo shirt (unbuttoned at the top two buttons), pair of trousers, and black oxford shoes later, I was ready to go. I headed downstairs to the lobby where I knew the limousine would be waiting.

"There you are, Ian. Hurry up," Natalie called. She surveyed my attire critically. "Un-tuck the shirt. You look like a dork."

I did as I was told without complaint. There were some instances where I would be ready to argue with Natalie, but anything related to clothes … she would murder me. "Better?"

"Much."

We stepped inside the limo in silence. The rest of the ride to Amy's hotel was quiet too. Well, _most_ of it. Natalie was just looking out at the streets of Cairo, while I spent the time thinking of other interesting things about the Cahill girl.

I wondered what made her so shy. Would she still be like this if she grew up like a Kabra? Would she still stutter? Would she still love books as much as she did now? Or would she be like Natalie – I shuddered at the thought of two of them – shopaholic extraordinaire, master of shooting darts? I could not picture this 'sweet', innocent, and naïve girl trying to kill some one. The mental image was just _wrong_.

My mind went to more frivolous topics. Does she like the same books I do? I hoped she didn't like the Twilight Saga; what's with the vampire craze anyway? Vampires don't sparkle, and they're evil, end of story. I can withstand the Harry Potter series, as well as the classics, but I don't hold any particular interests. I prefer manuals and magazines, preferably the ones featuring the Kabra family.

And what about television shows? I doubt she watches Glee. I don't, due to the fact that it's too dramatic.

Music tastes? I had a feeling that we shared at least that one in common. Back in Venice, while I was playing the harpsichord, I noticed her looking at me playing KV 617. I could tell by her face that she liked the sound. I liked it, too. Classical music makes me feel at peace, a feeling I hardly experience anymore, especially since the start of the hunt.

"Hey." Natalie the Rude snapped her fingers in front of my eyes. "What are you thinking about?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Why? It's not like you to think of others."

Natalie shrugged. "The rules are different when I'm bored."

I stared at her a while longer, waiting to see if it were a joke, then shrugged back at her. "The Cahill girl."

She made a strangled sound. "What? You don't like her, do you? Dear Prada" – she gasped – "you _do_! You _totally_ do!"

I just looked at her, watching her jump from conclusion to conclusion. "What makes you say that?" I finally asked, amused.

"You're thinking of her!" Natalie screeched her voice grating in my ears. She hit me on the arm. "Oh, bloody hell, when mum finds out…"

I laughed, causing her to glare at me. "First, I don't like her. I simply find her interesting. Second, I was only comparing her and the boy's differences to us. Third, she's just a penniless American with a git of a brother, the two things I would never in a million years like, even if you paid me with all the clues."

Natalie relaxed visibly. "Oh, okay."

"Yeah, _okay_."

The rest of the trip was silent, for which I was grateful. I don't think I could stop from laughing at another outburst similar to that. It would be too much for me to handle. Natalie was so funny, thinking I could actually have any romantic feelings for the Cahill girl. It was impossible for me not to laugh.

I was saved from laughing again when the driver announced, "We're here, Ms. and Mr. Kabra."

We stepped outside the limo and into the hotel. If you could call it a hotel. The building looked like a prison. Natalie wrinkled her nose as she passed through the… establishment. It was amusingly evident that the Cahills weren't well off.

A young man – the bellboy – waved at us, trying to get our attention. We paused and turned to glance at him. "Excuse me," he said, his Spanish accent thick, "but you have to check in."

Natalie curled her lips in a sly grin. "Tell us where Amelia and Daniel Cahill are staying," she said, passing three hundred Euros to him discreetly, "and you may keep the money."

He eyed the bills in wonder and greed. "Um – enjoy your stay, Mr. and Ms. Smith. Right this way."

We followed him into the elevators. He led us to the sixth floor and towards the final door. "Here we are."

"Thank you." I waited until he disappeared around the corner and got out my lock-picking set. I picked the lock easily. It was one of those cheap, ugly doorknobs you find at the seventy-percent-off sale. Not that I would know.

We opened the door cautiously and tiptoed inside. Amy was sitting on a bed that looked lumpy, facing away from us. We stole quietly towards her. She still didn't hear us. She was watching the telly. I snuck a look at the programme, purely for curiosity's sake. It wasn't one I watched, but it didn't look half-bad.

We were poised behind her, ready to strike. My sister looked at me and I nodded. She took out her favorite dart gun from her pocket. I watched as she pointed it at Amy.

Amy automatically tensed, then turned towards us with annoyance clearly written on her face. But when she saw us, her face turned priceless.

No one made a sound until I finally decided that the silence was boring. "Hello, love," I said. "Been thinking about me?"

**I**

**A**

**N**

…**ooo000O000ooo…**

**Yeah, I recycled this mostly from the Chapter 2 of Thinking of You. I didn't really have a problem with this chapter, so that's why. Thanks for those who read and reviewed! Be a dear and read and review again.**

**I accept anonymous reviews, so you don't need an account to review. **

**Know any good books? I'm running out of books to read. I just finished reading the Hunger Games trilogy for the third time. A little advice, don't read the third book, Mockingjay. The ending wasn't one of Suzanne Collin's best. It was kind of weak. **** Blech. Argh. **

**AND FINNICK DIED! HE WAS THE BEST OF ALL OF THEM! FINNICK! I NEED YOU!**

**Flames are welcome, reviews more so.**


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